


Scully's Desk

by SpyderScully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpyderScully/pseuds/SpyderScully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully walks in to find evidence that maybe Mulder listens to her after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scully's Desk

**Author's Note:**

> It's always bothered me that Scully never got a desk—so I decided to remedy that fact. Takes place a few weeks after the Ed Jerse event.

When Scully unlocked the door Monday morning she couldn’t understand why stepping into Mulder’s office (calling it “their office” still seemed inaccurate, despite four years of dedicated proximity) was met with a sudden feeling of unease. Her curious gaze scoped the room before she realized Mulder wasn’t there. That was nothing new, she was often there before Mulder, usually because he was busy Monday mornings collecting God-knows-what to explain Scully-couldn’t-even-guess-what about their next case. No, the feeling of unfamiliarity drew deeper than that.

It was then that she realized the filing cabinet had been moved to the other side of the office, and in its place was a desk—barren except for a small pile of new file folders and a desktop computer that had obviously been dusted off from somewhere in storage.

Scully’s brow twitched as she stepped forward, taking in what little there was to see. The desk was far from new, but looked decent and was made of attractive mahogany. The office chair that accompanied it looked to be recently purchased—it might have even been untouched since the day it had been bought but for the fact that someone had taken the effort to push its height down to the lowest level. Scully was smiling now, barely able—not for the first time—to quite believe her eyes.

"Oh, Mulder…" Her voice was a little guarded but amused. She barely heard it when the office door opened behind her, allowing a cardboard box-carrying Mulder to enter.

"Ah Scully you’re here, good." He huffed, shifting his way past her to unceremoniously park the swollen and misshapen box upon the newly placed desk. He fished out a decently packed file folder, waving it in front of her as the bright red tape that held its spine together crinkled softly in his hand.

"I’ve got one that’ll knock your proverbial socks off," he grinned, looking as excited as he ever did when presenting her with a new mystery to disclose.

"Mulder," she ignored him softly, gesturing towards the furniture that was currently serving as platform to the Who’s Who and What’s What of their next case, "What’s this?"

He glanced behind him, the file still clutched in his hand but lowered to his side. She felt him slip into wry mode.

"Scully, I would have assumed that your powerful observational skills as a scientist would have alerted you to the obvious conclusion that this is in fact a desk."

"Well yes, but—“ she was too afraid of what this might mean to return his quip with either one of her own or her usual response of a cocked eyebrow, "…My desk?"

"Who else would it belong to?" He was serious as he settled his backside against the desk, crossing his arms and regarding her solemnly. He suddenly reached behind himself into the box, pulling something out and before she could say anything she felt him press a cool, oblong object into her hand. She glanced at him, wanting to meet his eyes but he had busied himself digging though the box again. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she looked down at the satisfyingly angular bar cradled in her fingers.

It was a nameplate, nearly identical to Mulder’s, save for a bit more of a “new” shine to it. Simple, triangular, gold-plated, with “Dana Scully” crisply engraved on it. Scully swallowed, surprised to find that her mouth and throat were completed dry.

“I would have gotten it a week ago,” she realized Mulder had been looking at her, probably trying to gauge her reaction, “but they somehow messed your name up and I couldn’t let you have your desk without your claim on it.”

Her throat was still chalky at this point, and she was surprised she even managed to get her mouth open.

“Mulder, I…I don’t know what to s—yes, I do. Thank you.”

He shrugged, turning his attention back once again to the box. Dammit, she wished he would just look at her.

“No thank you is necessary. I figured it was time you had your own space…and I figured it’d had better be sooner rather than later, before you turned into Lydia the Tattooed Lady beneath that crisp suit of yours.”

There was no malice in his voice, but nevertheless Scully felt her lower back burn as she became aware of the risk he had taken to make that joke. They had barely spoken about the slender, infinite mark inked into her lower back, and in the passing couple of weeks since then she had been painfully aware of the manner in which Mulder had figuratively handled her with kid gloves. It had made her feel like a stranger.

She had noticed, of course, as she noticed all slight alterations to his ordinary behavior. Lately though, it seemed as though he had slowly but surely come to the conclusion that, despite her hidden pieces, she was still the same woman who had walked into his office with her hand extended four years ago. Maybe he had begun to realize she was not someone who needed shielding or to be put up with, nor someone to be taken for granted. She did not need disregard in the guise of “protection”—she needed trust, she needed faith, and she needed to feel like what she was contributing was of some value to his work.

Scully mentally grinned at the thought that this gesture of bestowing a desk to her could even remotely mean that Mulder truly saw her as someone he depended on, but if it could become that, it was a start.

"So if I want my own filing cabinet, I won’t have to resort to getting my nose pierced, then?"

He gave a mock shudder.

"Ooh, Scully, don’t tease me." She gave a soft laugh in exchange for his smile. There was warmth in her chest she didn’t remember feeling there before, and her palms were damp with cool perspiration.

"So, partner," she led in, gesturing to the box as she set the new name plate next to where he sat, "What am I looking at, then?"

The smile on his face was enough to make her believe that yes—maybe things were beginning to change after all.

"Well, Scully…what do you know about voodoo priests?"


End file.
